A True Father
by Klaaaaaaine
Summary: Blaine has a secret, and of course Burt would be the first to figure it out. **because I just freaking love Blurt**


**A/N: I wrote this forever ago, and I was just reading a little oneshot on Kurt cutting himself, sadly (I don't know why I put myself through that torture), and remembered this. ****There is no describing of self harm, only a major character telling another character about cutting himself. Nothing****graphic.**

It was a typical Saturday night at the Hudmel home. Blaine was over, cuddling with Kurt on the couch, not paying attention to the football game Burt was intently watching.

"I can't believe this," Burt said, taking another sip of his beer. "The Steelers are really disappointing me this season."

"Pass the popcorn," Blaine heard Kurt say quietly. He retreated his sweatshirt-clad arms from his boyfriend's waist and leant over to the coffee table.

Burt took his eyes off the television to ask for the popcorn, but Kurt beat him to the punch. He watched Blaine reach for the bowl, and saw a few red lines on his wrist that caught his eye.

He suddenly wasn't so hungry anymore.

When Kurt finished his few bites of popcorn, Burt said, "Hey Blaine, wanna bring me some of that?"

"Sure thing, Burt," he said. Burt smiled; it took him an entire year to finally start calling him by his name instead of 'Sir'.

Blaine took the bowl from Kurt and removed his boyfriend's legs from his lap. He walked the short distance to Burt's armchair, and Burt stated intently at the bowl. When it was right in front of him, he caught the tiniest slivers of scratches on both Blaine's wrists.

He quickly took the bowl and grumbled a "Thanks, kid." Blaine smiled and went back to the couch, returning to his position with his boyfriend. Kurt nuzzled into his neck, and Blaine pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Burt turned back to the game, less interested than he had been minutes earlier. All he was interested in now was when Blaine cut his wrists. Well, not necessarily when- more like why.

A few minutes later, a light snore from the couch tore him from his thoughts. He looked over and saw Kurt, leaning on Blaine with his lips slightly parted, deep breaths escaping. Blaine was staring at him in awe, like he was the most precious and beautiful thing in the world.

In fact, Burt often saw Blaine looking at his son this way.

Burt remembered the first time he'd laid eyes on Kurt. He was pretty sure he looked the same as Blaine did now.

He cleared his throat, and Blaine looked up at him. "Why don't you take him upstairs?"

Blaine nodded. "He's gonna kill us; he hasn't done his moisturizing routine yet."

Burt chuckled. "I think he'll be okay." He watched as Blaine placed his arms under Kurt's back and legs and lifted him off the couch. Burt probably wouldn't let any other boy Kurt brought home put his hands on his son, but Blaine was different. He knew he'd do anything to keep Kurt safe, and Burt liked that he could see that before even hearing it from the boy.

But after seeing the scratches on his wrist, he wasn't sure what to think anymore.

Ten minutes later, Blaine came back downstairs. "Thank you for having me, Burt. I'd better get home," he said.

"Actually, there's something I think we need to talk about," Burt said. He pointed to the couch, and Blaine walked over, tugging at his sleeves. He sat down and tried his hardest to keep Burt's gaze.

"What do you wanna talk about? Is it about Kurt?" he asked. Burt shook his head.

"No, kid. I just want to talk about you. Most importantly, your wrists." his eyes flickered down to Blaine's clasped hands. He saw them clench tightly.

"I'm sorry, but I don' know what you're talking about," Blaine quickly rushed out. Burt huffed.

"Blaine. What happened to your wrists?" he asked. He wasn't going to beat around the bush. If he could do something to help the boy, he was going to make it happen as soon as possible.

"N-nothing," the boy stammered. "Listen, Burt, I've got to get home. Curfew and all."

"Well you might as well text one of your folks now, because you'll be here for a while if I don't get a real answer soon."

Blaine looked down to his hands. He quickly drew a deep breath. "You can tell me anything, son," Burt said, leaning forward. "I'd really appreciate it if you'd let me see your wrists."

Blain looked at Burt with tears in his eyes. "Please don't tell him about this."

Burt nodded. "I won't tell anyone. This is between you and me, and if I can do anything to help, I want to."

Blaine took a deep breath and let go of his hands. Burt could tell from a few feet away that they were clammy with sweat. He watched as Blaine pushed up his sleeves and held his arms out to him.

As Burt looked over the cuts that went past Blaine's sleeves, he let a few tears escape. Blaine was like his own son, and he didn't want him or Kurt or Finn harming any of themselves. He couldn't imagine why anyone-

"It's been rough," Blaine said shakily. "I just...I don't know. School's been getting to me. Being outside of Dalton brings back those memories of my old school, and I just break every time I think about that."

Burt had been filled in by Kurt on what had happened to send Blaine to Dalton. He nodded, and Blaine continued.

"And of course the school's coming to an end quickly, and Kurt will be in New York, and I don' have a single clue what I'm going to do without him. I made up until now, but I think the only thing that kept me going was the fact that I knew something was coming. Something good. After a storm comes a rainbow, right?"

Burt ignored the little voice in his head that said, '_Wow, that's really gay_.'

"Anything else?" he said instead, and knew it was the right thing to say. Blaine retreated his arms and closed in on himself.

"My, uh, my dad." Immediately Burt grew angry; he didn't like the things he'd heard about that man. "He's been up my ass lately, talking about college and getting a _girlfriend_," Blaine sneered into the word. "It's like the more I bring up Kurt, the more determined he gets to cure me or whatever." He let out of few shaky breaths. "What am I doing wrong? Is it so hard to love me?"

He sniffed, and Burt dropped his head. He didn't understand how someone couldn't accept their kid for who they were; that was part of the whole parenting deal.

"I'm sorry, Blaine," he said. "I don't mean to disrespect your father, but he clearly needs to do some serious thinking." He paused, and looked up at Blaine, who was staring at him like a lost puppy. "I want you to know that I love you like my own son. And I want you to do one thing for me."

"Anything," Blaine said, holding back sobs.

"Stop hurting yourself," Burt said. "You've done nothing wrong. You are exactly who you're supposed to, that's your job. The next time you even consider hurting yourself that way, come talk to me, or anyone you know will listen."

He paused, and remembered the sleeping boy upstairs. "I think..."

"I will," Blaine said quietly. "I'll tell him. Just not today."

"Tomorrow?" Burt asked. Blaine nodded. "Good. He needs to know."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. "Thank you, Burt," Blaine finally said.

Burt smiled at him. "Anytime, son. And I mean that. Now go on upstairs."

Blaine's head perked up and Burt just nodded. "Hurry, before I change my mind." Blaine nodded and said a quick 'thanks' one more time. "But no funny business."

Blaine was halfway up the stairs when he stopped. "Burt?" The man turned to him. "I...could you be there with me tomorrow? When I tell him?"

Burt smiled. "Of course, kiddo."

Blaine grinned, and headed back up the stairs. Burt turned back around and turned off the tv. He was ready to go to sleep; it'd been an interesting night.


End file.
